


Getting There

by Lavendermagik



Series: Fugitive Songs [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Inspired by Album Fugitive Songs, Mild Angst, Mutual Pining, One Shot, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Series of One Shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:56:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27133513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavendermagik/pseuds/Lavendermagik
Summary: You've decided to go, but you didn't expect him to care so much.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Reader
Series: Fugitive Songs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971865
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	Getting There

**Author's Note:**

> Places to listen:  
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/4d2WUUho3xemo2qCc8ieWb?si=EuRmKT6NTouoQTqCv2uQIQ)  
> [YouTube Album Release Concert](https://youtu.be/IOSVx4hjLIY)  
> [YouTube Live Show](https://youtu.be/AHf-l5kl1C0)

“How did you know I was here?”

“They called me. I’m your emergency contact.”

“No you’re not. And this is a Denny's.”

“Which calls me when you have more than six cups of coffee.”

Looking back, that was a really stupid way to have started all this. Still, he took in your chaotic collection of maps and declared he was due for a vacation, and so you’d found yourself a road trip buddy. You looked over at Clint where he drove with one hand on the wheel and the other hanging out his window to catch the breeze. He caught you staring and shot you a smile. Though embarrassed, you returned his smile and turned to face forward before he could see your cheeks get red, absently brushing at your hair as the wind whipped it around. 

Clint had been your across-the-hall neighbor for almost four years, and you’d known he was a super hero for just about that long. He wasn’t exactly secretive about his alter ego, but he also wasn’t as flashy and recognizable as, say, Ironman or Thor. Not that he wasn’t impressive in his own right – you’d seen the man pin a mosquito to the wall with a dart – but he was… quieter. What he lacked in flash he made up for in substance, at least in your opinion.

You gave him another side eye, admiring the profile of his face and the corded strength in his bicep, displayed even through his loose hold on the wheel. Surreptitiously, you snuck your Kodak, a device he made fun of with religious fervor and regularity, out from behind your leg. He glanced over just as the shutter sounded. “What are you doing?”

“Recording physical manifestations of memories?” You plucked the picture as it ejected and slid it under the heat of your thigh, because despite popular and rhythmic instruction, shaking did not help Polaroids develop. 

“You never did say why you bought that thing.”

“That’s because every time you ask you say it’s obsolete and call me grandma, and then I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

“Fine. Please explain why you’ve chosen such a classic piece of technology instead of using the camera on your phone like everybody else.”

You hesitated, tapping a finger against your camera as you considered. “I’ve spent years developing other people’s photographs, slapping them on mugs and T-shirts, cutting out 3x5’s and 4x6’s. I saw all these people living lives and going places I’ve never been, and I spent all my time behind a counter and falling asleep watching Jeopardy reruns.” You pulled the picture of him out and stared at the still murky colors of his cheek and jawline. “So when I decided to have some adventures of my own, I wanted the same kind of thing – evidence that I’m actually _doing_ something, memories I can hold. I know it’s dumb. On the face of it, digital pictures aren’t that different. But this just feels more real, somehow. Memory cards can be wiped, but this existed in the world, and so it’s harder to erase. Even if it’s destroyed, I’ll always know how it felt it my hands.”

The picture’s colors had darkened significantly, the portrait now so clear that you could imagine it was photo Clint who said, “When did you become so philosophical?”

“Not a lot to do behind that counter but think.”

“Well then,” he steered the car to a stop off to the side of the road, “you might as well get a memory that really counts.”

Your heart leaped when he leaned towards you, wondering what kind of memory he’d been referring to. Instead of your wilder imaginings, he simply pulled the camera from your hand and tugged you to tilt into his space. You finally managed to breathe again when he held the camera up and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “Say cheese.”

Somehow both relieved and disappointed, you pressed your head close to his and grinned at the lens. A quick click and his warmth left you as he returned fully to his seat. He took the picture as it printed and stared at the gray square, waiting for the lines and shapes to appear. Which meant you couldn’t see his face clearly, so you were caught off guard when his tone turned serious. “Hey, I got a call last night.”

“Yeah?” 

“S.H.I.E.L.D. wants me back.”

“Oh.”

“Duty calls. Sorry to cut our road trip short.” He turned to you with the right side of his mouth pulling into an apologetic half-smile. 

“No worries. I knew the risks when I decided to travel with an Avenger.”

He rolled his eyes as he put the car back into drive, steering with one hand and holding the photo in the other. “When do you have to be back at work anyway?”

“I’m, uh…” You wished he’d given your camera back. At least then you’d have something to fiddle with. You settled for digging under your fingernails instead. “I’m not going back.”

“You get a new job or something?” His eyes darted to you and then back to the road, and you knew he could see you were nervous.

“I mean… I’m not going back to New York. At all.”

“What are you talking about?” His brow was so scrunched you wondered if it impaired his vision. “Where else are you going to go?”

“Everywhere.”

He was having a harder and harder time keeping his eyes on the road. “Look, I get that this has been fun, but you can’t just never go back.”

“Why not?”

“What are you going to do about money?”

“I’ve got some saved up.” You slouched a little when he gave you a disbelieving side-eye. “Okay, so not a lot. But, I don’t know, I’ll pick up odd jobs along the way or something. I’ve heard about people doing that.”

“What about your apartment? Paying rent on a place you don’t live is going to eat up those savings real quick.”

“I’ve set up a sublet.”

“Already?”

“Couple days ago actually.”

“You’re gonna let a _stranger_ live across the hall, and you didn’t tell me?”

“He sounds like a nice guy.”

“You’re gonna a strange _man_ live across the hall from me?”

Despite everything, you snorted a laugh. “Stop being such a drama queen.”

“I’m sorry, you’ve been saving this news up for some epic reveal, and _I’m_ the drama queen?” He'd stopped looking at you entirely now, and that was a little worrisome.

“I wasn’t saving it. I just didn’t know how to bring it up without making it sound like a big deal.”

“Because it is a big deal. Do you know how dangerous it is for a woman to travel alone?”

“Is that why you offered to come? Because you didn’t think I could take care of myself?” The idea hurt more than you wanted it to, like he didn’t want to be here but felt obligated. You didn’t want to be an obligation.

“I came because a road trip with you sounded like a good time.” He was forced to stop the car again when you came upon a herd of cattle being shepherded across the road. He angled himself toward you, and you tried to ignore the weight of his gaze pressing you back into your seat. “Okay, why? Why are you doing this?”

“Because…” You sighed and fought the urge to look at the cows instead of his stormy expression. You needed to face this like a big girl. “Because I’ve been stationary for so long. I need to do something. I need to move before I go crazy.”

“You know, when most people feel stagnated, they take up a hobby or a college course or an extramarital affair. They don’t abandon their whole lives to bum around the country.”

“Are you actively encouraging infidelity right now?”

“I just saying you have options, ones that don’t involve running away.”

“I’m not running away! I’m running towards!”

“Towards what?”

“I don’t know yet. So I have to find out.”

His sigh was forceful with his frustration. He turned to the steering wheel as the last cow crossed the road and the ranch hand at the back held up a hand in acknowledgement. The car trundled forward, dragging under the weight of the tension within.

“Clint,” you said, trying to sound soft and reassuring, “I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, well, what about me?”

His muttered sentence caught you off guard. “What about you?”

“What am I supposed to do with you gone?”

“Oh, come off it. After a few weeks you won’t even remember I’m not there.”

“Is that how it goes when I’m on long-term ops? You forget all about me?”

You turned away from his piercing eyes. The answer was no – you always felt his absence acutely each time he was on a mission. “As you pointed out, we have these handy phones with cameras. It’s not like I’ll be totally unreachable.”

“Yeah, but you’ll be busy and I’ll be busy and we’ll fall out of contact. That’s just how it goes. The next time we see each other we’ll be strangers again.”

“We could never be strangers.” You wished you could safely hug him. You settled for wrapping your arms around yourself. “I’m not disappearing, Clint.”

“Maybe not.” He glanced down at the fully developed picture resting on his thigh, two smiling faces completely oblivious to what was about to happen. “But things feel more real when you can hold them in your hands.”

Nat picked him up at the nearest landing strip – no point in you driving him all the way back to NYC just to take off again. He knew his master spy friend could tell something was wrong, but he also knew she wouldn’t press him on it. They had a job to do. A rather long job, as it turns out, which should have meant that you were right about not noticing your vacancy, but instead he was reminded almost constantly that this time you wouldn’t be there when he got home.

No, what he found waiting for him was a thick envelope with a California postmark and no return address. Suspicious, maybe, but he was never one for caution. He ripped it open, and out tumbled a pile of thick, square photographs. He selected one from the top and found you wide-eyed and holding up a pinecone as big as your head. Another showed you gesturing to the wide expanse of ocean behind you. And in yet another you appeared to be blowing him a kiss from in front of a Welcome to Las Vegas sign. He sorted through the stack until he came upon one with sharpie scribbled across the bottom.

_**Miss you. Call me soon.** _

You must have gotten someone else to take the picture. It showed you sitting on the hood of your car, ankles crossed and arms around your knees, in front of what he could only assume was the Grand Canyon. No silly face in this one – just your softest smile, the one he secretly hoped was solely for him. He looked up to find his phone already in his hand.

It rang only once before you answered. 

He smiled down at the picture in his hand and greeted you with, “So what kind of hellscape place grows pinecones big enough to kill a man?”


End file.
